


To Answer the Call

by Shellepink



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Development, Drama, Epic Battles, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multiple Wardens, Political Intrigue, Romance, Slow Burn, dragon age novelization, the works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2018-09-28 15:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10128296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shellepink/pseuds/Shellepink
Summary: The Fifth Blight is upon Ferelden.  The Grey Wardens are the only ones who stand between the people of Thedas and destruction.  But political conflict and dark ambitions severely complicate matters, leaving the Grey Wardens without support and without much hope.Multi-Wardens fic with much canon divergence.





	1. Part I - Ch.1: Duncan

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at a multi-Warden canon DAO story. I say "canon", but there will be canon divergence, so heads up. The story does encapsulate the events of the game, but there will be changes and variations based on my own interpretation. 
> 
> There will also be multiple pairings, but I've always found it more enjoyable to let the dynamics and relationships of characters unfold naturally without laying them out ahead of time, so if it's all the same to any readers who happen upon this little ditty, I will be keeping relationship tags out of the story tags for now. 
> 
> And finally, in case anyone would like to take a look at (poorly taken) pictures of my Warden OCs, [here](http://lavalampelfchild.tumblr.com/myocs) is a link to my tumblr OC page. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Two months.  Two months since he’d set out with his Wardens to seek recruits, desperate to fill ranks too long too empty.  Two months ignoring tainted whispers he could not fully escape as they strengthened in his mind.  Two months of traveling, pushing onward despite exhaustion, despite fear, despite the inevitable. 

And now, nearly at the West Road, another recruit in tow, Duncan realized that he could delay no longer.

The horde was growing in the south.  It was hungry.  And it was ready to move.  Five recruits would have to be enough.  They had to get to Ostagar.

Duncan emerged by the Brecilian Forest and immediately turned his gaze to the sky.  The sun was well past its midday peak.  They had only a few hours of daylight left.

Behind him, young Velyn Mahariel stumbled and he turned.

“Do you need assistance?” he asked.  He reached for Velyn, ready to aid, but the elf tensed and spat at the ground before his feet.  Duncan stopped.  “…Very well. Then we press on.  Our camp is just ahead.”  

Velyn sneered and pointedly moved past Duncan, shooting him a vicious glower as he passed.  Duncan bit back a sigh.  He did not enjoy invoking the Right of Conscription if he could at all help it, but there was hardly a choice in the matter this time. If there was a chance that Velyn could survive his illness, and a chance that Duncan could bolster the Wardens’ numbers in Ferelden, then this was worth it.

All that remained now was to get him to Ostagar before his time ran out.  

Duncan and Velyn reached the camp as quickly as Velyn’s weakened state would allow.  Immediately, Duncan’s eyes sought out Aja Amell to assess her condition.  

She sat slightly removed from the others, leaning awkwardly against a tree.  She was completely out cold, and it certainly spoke to her level of exhaustion that she was able to fall asleep so easily in such an uncomfortable position.  Duncan’s gaze slid down to her feet and he winced.  

The wear of two months’ travel had taken its due, paid in the form of large patches of skin; Aja’s feet were red and chapped and swollen, covered with blisters and rubbed almost completely raw.  At least the wounds no longer bled.  The one silver lining of the whole thing.

It was an unfortunate and painful reality, Duncan knew, but they all had to start somewhere.  And he had a feeling that there would be many more forced marches for the Grey Wardens in the near future.  Better she build up that resilience now than later.

Duncan knelt by Aja and gently but firmly shook her shoulder.  She woke with a startled gasp, eyes wide and fearful for a moment as she flailed in confusion.  Duncan carefully removed his hand and waited patiently for her to find his gaze.  

“We must be moving now,” he said, solemn. “I am sorry to wake you, but we have no time to waste.”

Aja blinked rapidly and nodded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and reaching for her boots.  Duncan found them first and placed them beside her.

“Wardens, recruits, ready yourselves.”  His Wardens were already on their feet, bags and weapons strapped to their backs.  Rondall gave him a nod and a small salute, while beside him Richu grunted and hefted his pack over his shoulder.  The young recruits – Gundhram excepted  - were slightly more sluggish in their movements. Duncan turned to face them all as they stood watching him, clearly waiting for their instructions.  He obliged.

“We make for Lothering. It’s a five days’ journey by the West Road.  From there, we make the four days’ journey to Ostagar.”  

The recruits nodded, grim-faced and determined.  Duncan took a moment to look over them all.  Gundhram Aeducan, former prince and commander in Orzammar.  Tristan Brosca, former carta member and (as far as Duncan was concerned) Champion of a Proving.  Ilhenan Tabris, former alienage elf and ruthless defender of her family. Aja Amell, former Circle mage and healer.  And finally, Velyn Mahariel, former warrior of the Sabrae clan and, reputably, a highly skilled bowman.  

He had hoped to have one other, but long before he reached Highever, word reached him that the Teyrnir was under new leadership, the Teyrn and his family reportedly killed.  That being the case, there had been no point in his going.  His presence would have helped nothing, and it wasn’t his place to interfere, no matter his inclinations or wishes—

Duncan shook the thoughts from his mind and turned his attentions back to the others.  

“Let us move.” 

He took point and led the party southwest.  Richu and Rondall took up the rear.  The recruits were staggered in the center.

They traveled in silence until nightfall, thankfully suffering few delays or pauses along the way. Duncan was debating the wisdom in pressing on for several more hours when Richu called to him.  

“Duncan.  We should stop.”  

Duncan turned. Hesitated.  Gestured Richu over to him.  The recruits paused and waited.

“What is it?” Duncan asked. Richu adjusted his pack and shot a glance over his shoulder.

“That Dalish isn’t lookin’ so good,” he grunted, trying to keep his voice low. “He’s barely keeping up and we ain’t even a day in.”  His eyes flickered to Aja.  “And don’t get me started on the mage.  I’d say she hit her limit back in Denerim.”

He was right on both counts, Duncan could see that.   _It looks as though my decision has been made for me._   

“We’ll stop here for the night to rest,” Duncan announced to the group. “We leave tomorrow before sun-up.”

“I’ll get the fire going,” Rondall volunteered.  

“And I’ll get Aja a spot to rest.”  Richu began to make his way toward Aja, but Duncan halted him with a hand on his arm.

“Let me,” he said. “I wish to speak with her about something.  You scout the area.  I know the horde is further south, but…”  He trailed off and surveyed the surrounding area with wary uncertainty.  Richu huffed out a heavy breath.

“I feel it too.”  

“It seems the darkspawn are growing in strength.”

“Big damn surprise.”

Duncan held his breath for a moment, listening to the whispers that pulled at his mind and tugged at his soul.  They were getting louder.  “We must be prepared to move quickly.”  

Richu let out a scoff at that, glancing in the direction of the recruits.  “The dwarves and the alienage elf seem to be doing alright. But that Dalish looks like death warmed over.  And Aja’s ready to collapse, anyone can see that.”  Duncan turned and gave his companion a sharp look.

“Should it come to that, then we’ll carry her.”  He waited until he had Richu’s gaze.  “Velyn as well, or any of our recruits.  But if they do not survive…”  He placed a hand on Richu’s shoulder.  “Death is always a possibility, you know this.”

“Enough, I get it,” Richu interjected, waving a hand and shaking his head. “Can’t blame a fella for bein’ worried.”  Duncan almost chuckled at the gruff embarrassment coloring his comrade’s voice.

“I have faith in them, Richu,” he said simply.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richu huffed, gripping his sword and making his way toward the woods to the south. Rondall swiped at him as he passed, laughing as Richu grumbled and shot a halfhearted kick at his side.  Duncan hid a smile, waiting until Richu disappeared into the forest.

Around him, the recruits had found themselves their own places to set up.  All away from one another.  Not unexpected by any means, but not exactly promising.  They were soon going to be spilling blood together, eating, sleeping, living together in a way only the closest of soldiers and warriors did.  Amicable relations between them were most certainly preferable.

Biting back a sigh, Duncan made his way over to Aja, who looked as though she was about ready to collapse in the middle of the road.

“Allow me,” Duncan said, placing a hand at Aja’s back and gently guiding her to a place by the fire Rondall was starting up.  “I’m sorry to have put such a strain on you.  It is, unfortunately, necessary that we move as quickly as possible to cut off the horde before it can move further north.”  

Aja nodded and waved her hand in nervous dismissal.  “No, I understand!  I’m not—”  She paused and released a small sigh, barely hiding her frustration.  “I mean, I’m very sorry for slowing everyone down.  I tried to—”  Her lips thinned and she fell silent.  She took in a deep breath and turned to Duncan, determination and exhaustion at war on her face.  “I can handle it.”  

Duncan inclined his head, watching quietly as she returned her attention to her feet.  Her fists clenched at her side, and Duncan knew she was refraining from using her magic on her bruises.  

His eyes went to the blisters on her feet and he calculated silently.  They were nine days from Ostagar, and those nine days would take their toll.  Of that there was no doubt.  

Duncan gently placed a hand on her arm.  “If it would help, you may use a healing spell to ease some of the pain.”  

Aja’s eyes widened slightly and she turned to him in askance.  “What?  But what about…”

“The worst of our journey is behind us,” he explained. “And while the endurance – and some calluses – will be necessary on future marches, I see no reason to deny you a reprieve now.” She had certainly earned it, gamely keeping up with them all weeks prior, despite her lack of experience.

Aja seemed skeptical for a moment, but Duncan held her gaze, unblinking, as she searched his face for signs of… what?  Insincerity? Duplicity?  Duncan offered her a reassuring smile and some of the tension ebbed from her shoulders.  Almost tentatively, she unclenched her fingers and ran her hands slowly over her feet. A faint glow surrounded them, and Aja exhaled heavily, her relief clear.

“If you don’t mind, I have a request I would like to make of you,” Duncan continued.  Aja held her silence, waiting.  “Our newest recruit, Velyn—”  He indicated in the direction of the young elf.  “—Is currently suffering from a very severe illness that could end his life if left untended.”  Aja turned to glance at Velyn, brow furrowed.  “I hoped you might consider using a healing spell to stave off the worst effects of this illness.”  Aja turned back to Duncan and cast him a concerned expression.

“How long…?” she trailed off, lowering her voice as Velyn walked past them.  He took a seat a ways from the road, removed from the others. He was breathing heavily.  Aja winced.

“The illness was caused by exposure to darkspawn,” Duncan explained. “And its progression through the body does tend to vary somewhat, but Velyn has already proven extremely resilient, which gives me hope that he may survive the journey to Ostagar.” Duncan could see the alarm in Aja’s gaze as she met his eyes, and held up a calming hand.  “There is no cause to panic yet.  As I’ve said, Velyn is resilient and he has gotten through the very worst this illness has to offer.”  Here, Duncan paused and leveled Aja with a serious look.  

“But you must accept that his death is a distinct possibility.”  Aja’s eyes widened.  Duncan continued.  “There is nothing we can see in his condition now that indicates whether he will live or die, that is true.  But death is an inevitable part of being a Grey Warden, and accepting that is paramount. Do you understand?”  Aja nodded.  “Good.  Then may I count on your help?”  Again Aja nodded, a little more determination to the action this time.  Duncan returned the gesture.  “Excellent.  Thank you.”

Aja looked down at her feet and allowed the spell to taper, its light flickering out as the magic waned.  Tenderly, she began to press at the healed skin of her feet, brow furrowed, lips pulled downward.  Duncan observed quietly for a moment.

“It need not be immediate,” he offered. “I think it best that you be allowed to rest for a while before using your magic.  When Richu returns, that is when we shall have you perform the spell.  Will this do?”  

Aja nodded, leaning closer to the fire as it slowly crackled to life.  Duncan inclined his head and left her to herself.  He stood to his feet and turned to address Velyn.  

Of course, Velyn stiffened as Duncan made his way over, his distaste palpable.  Duncan proceeded regardless.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, shemlen?” Velyn sneered.  He straightened his back and narrowed his eyes at Duncan, chin tilted up defiantly, expression hard and unyielding.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, kneeling a respectful distance from the wary young elf. Velyn’s jaw tightened but he maintained his derisive look.

“Good of you to ask. I feel like my blood’s on fire, I can’t breathe sometimes, and every time I move one of my limbs I feel a shooting pain as though Elgar’nan himself is trying to rip them from my body.  I taste nothing but ash and blood, and there’s a damn buzzing in my ear that won’t go the hell away.  And my nose tickles.”  His hands clenched on the ground behind him and Duncan saw the fear swimming behind callous indifference in his eyes.  Still the sneer remained.  “So, really, I feel _fine._ ”

“Are you finished?” Duncan deadpanned, unimpressed.  Velyn’s eyes narrowed.  “If you are, I have a proposal for you, which I hope will help alleviate some of your pain.” He paused then, allowing Velyn a moment which he expected would be given to protest, but Velyn remained silent. Duncan inclined his head in silent relief and continued.

“Our mage recruit is a young woman named Aja, and is skilled in the healing arts.  Her magic has already proven useful to us in Orzammar, and I suspect the same could be true right now.  My proposal is that you allow her to use a healing spell on you.  It will not be nearly as effective as the old magic of your Keeper, but I believe it could be helpful nonetheless.”  

Velyn visibly fought a flinch at the mention of his Keeper and Duncan felt a small pang in his chest at the sight.  He pushed it down with practiced ease and waited patiently as Velyn turned to survey Aja. His eyes were inscrutable.  A moment passed.  

“…Why the hell not?” he finally mumbled. “Can’t imagine even a shem being able to make _this_ worse.”  He turned to shoot Duncan a cautious glare.  “Now?”  

“I am allowing Aja some time to rest and prepare before performing the spell,” Duncan replied. “She will make her attempt once Richu returns.”  

Velyn grunted and turned away from Duncan, and that was that.  Duncan let him have his quiet as they waited for Richu, the camp in relative silence but for Rondall speaking casually with Gundhram.  

Richu returned earlier than Duncan expected him to, brow furrowed in irritation, but no sign of injury. _Small mercies._  He shook his head as Duncan approached.  

“No darkspawn anywhere close to us,” he reported. “No people either.  I went down the road a ways, still nothing.  Ain’t nobody mad enough to attack a caravan of eight Grey Wardens armed to the teeth.”   _Technically, not all are Wardens yet._ Duncan smiled but didn’t bother to correct him.

Richu hesitated, his mouth twitching.  It was hardly obvious, but Duncan caught it anyway.  He waited.  Richu grunted and rubbed at his nose.  “Are we sure there aren’t any more Dalish clans nearby?  Ones that might be… less friendly than the sad sack’s over there?” He tossed his head in Velyn’s direction.

Duncan’s brow flattened into a hard line.  He understood Richu’s concern, truly, but this was not the time for it.  The Dalish were the least of their worries at the moment.

“Keeper Marethari assures me that her scouts have found no hostile clans this far north, and I take her at her word.”  His tone was firm.  Richu immediately backed off.

“Right, right, you’re the boss,” he said, holding up his hands in a ‘calm down’ gesture. “Just making sure.”  

“I understand,” Duncan inclined his head, lowering his voice. “But believe me, we have nothing to fear from the Dalish.”  And speaking of…

Duncan turned to look first at Velyn, who was struggling to maintain his sitting position, then at Aja, who seemed to be having the same struggle.  Duncan sighed.

“Aja will be using a healing spell on Velyn to see if it will help alleviate some of his pain,” he explained to Richu. “Understand; this is not the healing magic we have seen her use in combat thus far.  This magic takes time and careful preparation.  While she is using the spell, she will be vulnerable, and must be protected.  To that end, you and Rondall are to act as a first line of defense should anything come upon the camp while she is performing this spell.  Let nothing pass.”  

Richu nodded solemnly and unstrapped his sword from his back.  He went over to Rondall and gave the boy a smack on the back of his head, grunting at him to get his arse up.  Duncan made his way to Velyn.

“Time for the grand event?” Velyn drawled caustically as he approached.  Duncan nodded.  

“Are you ready?”

Velyn bared his teeth in a sharp grin.  “Are _you?_ ”

Fixing his features into an indifferent mask, Velyn pushed himself to his feet and began to make his way toward Aja.  

His fists clenched as he walked, soft tremors in his hands betraying his pain, though he maintained admirable control even in the face of that pain.  He had been through much in these recent days, far more than most could bear, and yet he endured.  Duncan could only hope that resilience would last them until Ostagar and the Joining.

As he approached Aja by the fire, Velyn tossed back his shoulders, pulling confidence over himself like a shroud.

“Well, at least I’m not surrounded by nothing but ugly shems,” he grinned, trying to lower himself smoothly to the ground.  He tossed his head carelessly in Ila’s direction.  “The flat-ear’s not so bad.”

Ila raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing in response.  Velyn winked at her, a crude expression on his face.  When she didn’t respond to that, he shrugged and leaned back on his elbows, turning his scrutinizing gaze onto Aja.  

“…Could be worse,” he mumbled. “So, what has the shemlen mage got in store for me?  Gonna magic the curse from my blood?  Good luck with that, I suppose.  My Keeper couldn’t manage it, and I’m guessing your magic isn’t quite up to Dalish Keeper standards, but hey.  Anything’s possible, right?”  His eyes flashed in the dark and Aja tensed.

“If you could hold still, please,” she requested, her voice terse.  Velyn chuckled. 

“No need to sound so formal, shem,” he shot. “We’ll be _com_ rades-in-arms soon, won’t we?  Why, we should be—”

“Will ya shut your yap and let her get on with it, elf?” Richu growled from the edge of camp. “Had enough of your nonsense.”  

Velyn jerked at that and shot a glare at the offending Warden.  Aja was silent, but Duncan caught the barest upward twitch of her lips.

Well, this journey certainly wouldn’t be lacking in excitement.  

“…Fine then, shem.” Velyn turned his head away, expression guarded.  “Get to it.”

Aja inclined her head and inhaled deeply.  The camp fell to silence as she breathed; to Duncan’s eyes she seemed to be indulging in one final moment of preparation.  

A moment passed and she finally straightened her back and reached for Velyn.  He tensed in apprehension, but Aja’s hands never actually touched him.  They hovered above his head first, a light glow surrounding them, and then moved slowly downward, steady and purposeful. 

Duncan silently marveled at the young mage’s will that she should be able to maintain such a steady stream of mana despite her exhaustion.

She swallowed and stilled her hands above Velyn’s chest.  She seemed to have found the best place to focus her magic.  

Under her skilled ministrations, Velyn sat unmoving, rigid in silence, eyes wide with wariness and something that might have been awe.  It made him look younger and oddly vulnerable.  

The glow of magic surrounded and seeped into him, and the longer Aja held the spell, the more he seemed to lose the will to maintain his suspicion, reclining until he was flat on his back, eyes still straining to see her hands.

As the healing continued, Duncan allowed himself to survey the other recruits.  It occurred to him that this was likely their first time witnessing such magic.  As he observed, it became apparent that the dwarves were quite adept at shielding any curiosity they may have felt.  Tristan had subtly moved himself so that he was further from Aja and Velyn, his face inscrutable but for a small furrow at his brow.  Wariness was a likely cause of that, Duncan guessed.

As for Gundhram, he appeared to be… stoic.  His face was a mask of control and discipline, and if there lay any curiosity beneath that mask, Duncan couldn’t see it.  He found, in fact, that he had some difficulty in reading Gundhram’s expression.  

It was, to Duncan’s mild surprise, Ila who was the most expressive.  Her face revealed open curiosity and fascination, lips parted and eyes slightly wide.  It was perhaps the most unguarded he had yet seen her since her recruitment.

He turned his attention back to Aja and Velyn.  His brow furrowed and he felt something heavy settle in his stomach.  

Several minutes earlier, her magic had been pouring from her hands in steady warm streams.  Now, it crackled and flickered as she struggled to hold the spell steady.  It did not look to be going well.

“Aja, that should be sufficient,” he said sharply, walking over to them and placing a staying hand on her arm.  She ignored him, still focusing on the spell.  At this proximity, Duncan could see just how tired she was.  Her face shone with sweat, her hands were shaking in earnest, and her breath was falling heavily from her lips.  “ _Aja._ ” She shook her head.  

“No, I can—!”  Her voice stuttered and she tried again.  “I can help!  He just-I just need to—”

“Recruit, that is enough. You will cease your actions immediately,” Duncan commanded.  Aja froze, her spell faltering.  A hush fell over the group, and after a beat of silence, Aja slowly pulled her hands back to her lap.  Duncan removed his hand from her arm and softened his voice.  “You did well, Aja.  Thank you for aiding him.”  Aja winced and determinedly avoided his gaze.

“…I do feel a bit better,” Velyn mumbled eventually, his eyes flitting to Aja and then away. Duncan held his silence.  In truth, Velyn looked no better or worse than he’d been before Aja had used her magic.

“You both need rest,” he said reasonably. “We make an early start tomorrow.”

“C’mon, girl, to sleep with you,” Richu made his way over and knelt beside Aja, a hand at her shoulder. Her lips thinned and she leaned slightly away from Duncan as she replied, “I should have been able to—”

“That’s enough out of you. You’re wasting valuable time with this.” He paused.  “Mine as well as yours, come t’think of it.”  Aja let out a huff of a breath that might have been a laugh, and Duncan watched as Richu coaxed her to her feet and led her over to one of the bedrolls, uncharacteristically gentle with her. 

Duncan remembered that Richu had left behind a daughter when he’d joined the Wardens.  

He turned back to Velyn. “Would you like to move to one of the bedrolls?  I’m sure that would be more comfortable than—”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Velyn hissed, turning roughly onto his side, away from Duncan.  Duncan only barely resisted the urge to shake his head in frustration.

Standing to his feet, Duncan spoke to the entire camp.  “We’ll take the night watch in two-hour shifts.  I shall take the first and last.  Rondall, you will take the second.”  Rondall nodded and settled easily into his bedroll.  “Richu, the third.”  Richu responded with a gruff “aye” and moved to his bedroll. “Gundhram, you will take the fourth.” Gundhram inclined his head.  “Before dawn tomorrow, we leave.”  There was a murmur of assent throughout the camp and Duncan, satisfied, began his watch.

His Wardens fell easily into a light sleep, used to taking rest wherever and whenever they could manage. For the recruits, on the other hand, sleep seemed slightly more elusive at first.  Eventually, however, they all settled, and Duncan allowed himself some measure of relief.  

They had all done well – the mage and dwarves especially – traveling for as long as they had, and it seemed as though they could at least manage some level of comradely interaction, though none went out of their way to befriend anyone else.  

Gundhram had been amicable enough with Aja after being recruited from Orzammar, though his attempts at friendly acquaintanceship with Tristan had been rejected with brusque indifference.  Ila, once she had joined, had proven to be quite capable of interacting positively with her peers, though she didn’t seem to enjoy socializing as a rule.  But now Velyn was added to the mix… 

This, his first interactions with his new companions, was not exactly promising.  Duncan suspected that he saw his fellow recruits as simply more of the same, more like Duncan, more of the group that coerced unwilling warriors into their ranks, and that that was why he reacted to them so strongly and negatively.  

Understandable, though worrisome.  If he continued to let sarcasm and rudeness guide his tongue, then it was very possible that he could drive a wedge between himself and his fellow Wardens in the future.

Though, it was possible that the others had thicker skin than Duncan gave them credit for.

But now was not the time for such thoughts.  Now was the time for vigilance.  

And so, as the moon emerged to light the sky, and the fire of their camp slowly died to a dim crackle, Duncan turned from the others and took up the watch.


	2. Part I - Ch.2

“So that’s Lothering?”  

Duncan came up short at Gundhram’s question, eyes turned to the village awaiting them.  “Yes.”

Gundhram stood beside him and hummed quietly.  “That’s a lot of soldiers.”  Duncan nodded.  More soldiers than usual, in fact.

Stretched along the highway and the river, the soldiers milled about, drinking, talking, and laughing.  There were few tents to shelter them, and Duncan guessed that they all had stopped at Lothering for reasons similar to his, that they were ultimately southbound, headed for Ostagar.

Lothering, it seemed, had become one large encampment.

“They don’t all look to be from the same company.  Or is that just how you surfacers do things up here.” Gundhram’s tone was just this side of disapproving.  Duncan felt a soft wave of amusement; it had to be odd for Gundhram, to see different companies so thoroughly disconnected from one another.  From what Duncan understood of the military in Orzammar, it was entirely uniform and commanded ultimately by the king.

In the next moment, however, the amusement was replaced by a thick tendril of unease and foreboding.  There had not been nearly so many companies in Lothering when he’d left Ostagar, and the king had given no indication that he intended to send for reinforcements.

What had changed in the months he had been gone?

“They are not all from the same company,” he answered Gundhram, setting off again at a brisk pace.  Despite their height difference and his armor, Gundhram managed to keep up. “These soldiers are most likely headed to Ostagar.  I would wager they’ve been summoned by the king.”  Gundhram made a thoughtful noise but didn’t speak any further.  

Duncan already knew that there wouldn’t be enough room for them in the town proper, so he signaled for the Wardens and recruits to make camp just off the highway, north of the village.

“We stop here for the remainder of today and tonight to resupply,” he called to the recruits, looking them over carefully.  They were exhausted.  “We leave at—”  A loud thud interrupted him and Duncan’s head snapped around to see Velyn collapse to the road.  

Duncan’s heart leapt to his throat and he’d moved two steps forward before he realized that Velyn was not in fact unconscious or dead yet, but had simply misstepped in an effort to sit down.  He forced himself to halt.

Apparently, he hadn’t been the only one who’d thought to help; Aja was still reaching for Velyn, eyes wide in tired alarm.

“Are you—” she began.  Velyn hissed something in elven as he clumsily tried to pull away, his voice hoarse.  He blinked and caught himself, shaking his head roughly.

“Back—back off,  _shem_ , I’m fine!” he snapped.  Aja froze for a moment and jerked her hands back, tension pulling at her eyes and the corners of her mouth.  She said nothing and inched her way toward Richu.

Duncan’s mouth thinned and he exhaled calmly before continuing, “We leave at sunup tomorrow.  The journey to Ostagar will be four days.”  He paused then and looked around at all of them, careful not to let his gaze linger on Velyn.  “We can’t afford to waste time.  After tonight, there will be minimum stops, to rest only when we absolutely need it.”

He didn’t relish what these final four days would do to his recruits, but there was no avoiding it.

Duncan placed his pack on the ground and cast a glance toward the town.  “I need to ascertain the state of Ostagar and the king.  I’ll return later.  Feel free to explore the town at your leisure.  I recommend the tavern for—”

“Better food than what’s in our packs,” Rondall called with a smirk.  Duncan shot him a quelling look.  

“That’s certainly one way to put it,” he acknowledged. “However, I would advise caution.”  He surveyed his recruits with an odd combination of amused anticipation and edged wariness.  Two elves, one mage, two dwarves, and two humans.  What a group they would make.   _Hopefully not one that draws unnecessary attention to itself._

“And…”  Duncan turned his eyes to Velyn.  “Velyn, I suggest you remain at the camp and rest.  Moving about excessively will only make you weaker, and propel you faster to your death.”

Harsh, perhaps, and blunt, but Duncan had never been one to mince his words, and Velyn so far had not been receptive to anything but the most direct of commands and orders.  

Around him, the camp tensed, the air growing thick.  Silence greeted Duncan’s suggestion, and the group’s collective gaze came to rest upon him and Velyn.

Velyn narrowed his eyes and sneered at Duncan, saying nothing, yet still managing to leave Duncan with the impression that he was being defied.

Well, this could turn out one of several ways.

With one last glance around the group, Duncan inclined his head sharply, turned, and made his way into the village.

The exhaustion in the village was palpable.  All around him, Duncan could see the tired eyes of the townsfolk, the weary but apprehensive posture of the soldiers, the way everyone was either desperately loud or hopelessly soft in their tones.  These people were worried.  

Duncan sped his pace.

His first visit was to the inn.  As expected, it was full, soldiers and townsfolk alike meandering about with drink and food in hand.  No one looked twice at Duncan; he was just another armed man looking for a drink.

Immediately he sought out the proprietor, quickly dodging past the patrons.  The poor fellow looked exhausted.

“Danal,” Duncan greeted as he approached.  The tired innkeeper blinked and gave him an assessing stare, clearly trying to determine if he knew Duncan.  Duncan was about to remind him when Danal’s eyes widened in recognition, lips pulled into an easy if halfhearted smile.

“I remember you!” he declared. “You’re that Warden fellow, came by a few weeks ago with—”  He halted his words abruptly and cast a nervous glance around the room before gesturing Duncan closer.  “You don’t still have… you know… that, ah, that—”

“Yes, the mage is still with me,” Duncan cut in, the urgency of the Blight warring with his usual tendency to be polite to the ones who served him his drinks. “You needn’t worry; she’s outside and is very much not going to cause you any trouble, I promise.  But for the moment, that is the least of our worries.”  Danal’s brow furrowed and he leaned slightly forward, lowering his voice.

“You’re telling me,” he murmured. “I hear that the horde has grown so large it almost surrounded Ostagar and the king in less than a night!  That’s why all these soldiers are here, they say.  King needs reinforcements otherwise he’s done for.”  He gave an exaggerated shudder, and Duncan fought the urge to press his forehead.  At least they were closer to the subject he needed to discuss.

“I’m sure things have not become that hopeless just yet,” he reassured. “But if there are any others here who would have word from the king, I need to know where they are.”  At that, Danal scoffed and gestured around the room.

“Take your pick,” he said. “We got a lot of runners from Ostagar returning from their fancy missions.  Quite a few of ‘em were headed to different lands in the Bannorn to recruit some help, if I remember correctly.  Feel free to ask around.”

“If you can advise me on where to start, Danal, I think I shall,” Duncan replied pointedly.  Danal sighed and gestured to one of the patrons sitting in the far corner.

“Runner from Ostagar, just came in this morning, hasn’t left since.”  He leaned in.  “I’d be careful.  Bit of a temper, that one.”  Duncan inclined his head and made his way toward the runner’s table.

The woman sitting there was hunched over, bloodshot and baggy eyes staring forward, making no effort at conversation with the others who shared her table.  Her hands curled possessively around a mug in front of her, still half-full.

“Excuse me,” he said clearly but quietly. “My name is Duncan, and I’m a Grey Warden come from the king’s camp at Ostagar.  I understand that you and I have that in common, and I wonder if you might have some information for me.”  The woman didn’t move for a moment, perhaps thinking she could shake Duncan if she ignored him.  When Duncan didn’t leave, she finally turned to look at him.  Her eyes scanned his figure and came to land on his face, narrowing in suspicion.

“I don’t know you, Duncan the Grey Warden,” she accused gruffly. “What d’you want?”  Her accent was unusual, but Duncan didn’t bother trying to place it.

“I believe I’ve already said.”

The woman’s eye twitched, but she covered it quickly and cast a bored look down at her drink.

“You said you were a Grey Warden?”  She hummed. “Well, you must not be that good. No darkspawn around here.  They’re all a little further down.”  

“Fortunate, then, that ‘a little further down’ is where I’m headed.”  

“So what d’you need me for?”

Duncan’s tone hardened.  “If you could please give me information about the state of the king’s camp before you left—”

“Hasn’t been overrun by darkspawn yet,” She smirked, giving him an arch look over the rim of her mug.  Duncan felt himself stiffen.  

“Could you—”

“You care so much what happens to the place, go find out for yourself,” the woman snapped, eyes flashing dangerously. “You’re headed there already, ain’t ya? Go on.”  She angled her body away from him.  Duncan watched her for a moment in silence.

He could press her for answers; he could impress upon her the importance of what he was trying to achieve, and hope that that would inspire her to help him with her knowledge.  He could push until she yielded.  

_It would be a wasted effort._

Without another word, Duncan turned and left her to her own devices.

Fortunately, Danal was willing to identify the other runners in the tavern with little persuasion.

Unfortunately, those runners were either unwilling to talk to him or knew less than he about the state of the king’s army.  He had learned only that the soldiers were nervous, that there were disturbing rumors coming out of Highever, and that the darkspawn were still harassing the outskirts of the camp and scouting parties.

It was nothing he couldn’t have put together himself, honestly.

The only thing of worth he had found out was from a soldier of Rainesfere, headed  _back_ the way he had come, along with his company, because of a recent and frantic missive from Arl Eamon’s brother.

“Captain won’t say what was in the message,” the man said, his worry betraying him for a moment as he looked at Duncan with uncertain eyes. “But I know the runner who brought it; that’s Bann Teagan’s fastest man.”  He shook his head then and turned back to his drink. “Whatever it said, it must be serious. Why would we be called away from the  _king_ otherwise?”  

No amount of careful pressing on the matter could get Duncan any more information on the subject.

Ducan was contemplating getting a drink himself – he had at least a few hours to celebrate what was beginning to look like a very poor state of affairs, didn’t he? – when a commotion by the door caught his attention.

“Duncan!”

Danal tensed and Duncan pushed to his feet, moving to intercept a frantic Aja before anyone who recognized her as a mage could do so for him.

“Aja, what is it?” he asked in a calm voice, hands steadying her by the elbows. She swayed slightly, but her expression was determined.

She pulled one arm free to gesture toward the door, her eyes flicking back and forth as she tried to pull him away.

“It’s Velyn,” she rambled urgently. “He-he’s arguing with one of the local guards!”  Duncan stiffened before stepping deftly around Aja and speeding his pace, leading her outside.  Richu stood waiting for them, tense with readiness – for what, Duncan didn’t know, though he hoped it wasn’t Velyn’s stupidity – and fell into step easily behind them.  Duncan turned his attention to Aja.

“What happened.”  

Aja swallowed roughly and pointed.  Ahead of them a large crowd had formed, townsfolk and soldier present.  At the center, Duncan could make out the top of a giant cage, occupied by a—

“Qunari,” Richu cut in as they made their way over. “Guards were taking him in, big brute of a fella’, and the Dalish up and charged right over.  Nearly brained himself on the way, can barely keep his feet.”  

Duncan gave a sharp nod.

“Richu, return to the camp with Aja,” he commanded, eyes on the crowd.  He couldn’t see Velyn.

Richu grunted the affirmative and quickly began to lead Aja away from the crowd. Duncan continued forward, muscles tense, jaw clenched.  

He’d barely made it to the fringe of the crowd when he heard the familiar voice.  Pulling up at the sound, Duncan gave in to the rare urge to sigh in exasperation and turned toward the source.   _You had to know this would happen._ He pushed forward to the front of the crowd.

“You lock everyone up who’s not like you, shem?  Is that all you know?”

A low rumble rippled through the crowd. The spectators appeared to be at something of a loss, some hisses and jeers here and there, but for the most part there was a tense near-silence hanging over them all. As though they feared the Qunari could burst from the cage and attack them at any moment.

Given the poor state of the cage, he probably could.

And, as Aja had said, there was Velyn.  Standing with as much defiance as the Qunari, though Duncan could see the effort that required.  Velyn’s legs were planted, knees locked to keep from shaking, fists clenched, eyes bloodshot, and his face was dripping in sweat.

A guard stood between Velyn and the cage, and looked to be struggling to mask his own indignation.  He drew himself up and spoke, “He’s a murderer.”

Velyn scoffed.  “Then he’s in good company, eh, human?”

Duncan eyed the Qunari, taking in his condition and features, as the guard bristled and snarled, voice rising, “I was there when we arrested him. I saw what he’d done, the kind of carnage he caused.  Would  _you_ have left him to go kill more of your people if it had been  _your_  knife-eared family he’d killed!?”

That was the wrong thing to say.  Velyn tensed, risking his balance by taking an aggressive step forward. He stumbled only once, but his fury carried him the rest of the way.  “Maybe he was just  _defending himself_  from  _your people_ , did you ever consider that?  Maybe he didn’t want to have to deal with your shemlen arrogance and did us all a favor by—”

Duncan was moving toward Velyn now, opening his mouth to speak, to put a stop to the boy’s reckless behavior before it started something unnecessary and  _dangerous_ —

“Parshaara!”  

Duncan stopped.  Velyn stopped.  Everyone stopped.  

In the cage, the Qunari stood, muscles tense, body so rigid and tightly controlled he was quivering.  His eyes were wide and angry – panicked? – as they jumped from Velyn to the guard to the crowd and back.

His mouth was a thin line, lips pressed together as though he could take the cry back if he just pressed hard enough.  He breathed deeply through his nose.

No one spoke.  Duncan could feel the crowd’s fear.  He held his ground and waited for Velyn— _anyone_ —to speak, to make worse this thing that had started that shouldn’t have.

The Qunari closed his eyes.

“You.”  His eyes opened and lit upon Velyn.  “The bas—human—speaks the truth.  Take your anger elsewhere.”

Velyn appeared to be frozen, and for a long moment he only stared at the Qunari, saying nothing.

The guard’s hand went belatedly to his weapon and he looked between the Qunari and Velyn.  Duncan took that as his cue.

“Velyn,” he called.  Velyn’s body jerked and he whipped around, the odd trance broken. His eyes met Duncan’s and he sneered, the expression unfortunately familiar.

“So, you’ve come to collect me for being a—”

“Velyn, you are returning to the camp now, either by your own strength or by mine.”  Duncan’s voice cut sharply through Velyn’s words, and Duncan allowed some of his frustration and annoyance to leak through.  Of course Velyn would find a way to agitate an entire town of people when he was dying of darkspawn-induced fever,  _of course_.

Velyn’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but he quickly caught himself and forced a hard and rebellious expression onto his face. Duncan continued before he could voice any protest, “If you choose to fight me on this, you will lose.”

Silence.  Velyn glared at Duncan.  Duncan held his gaze.  Around them, the crowd was beginning to disperse, avoiding Velyn, Duncan, and the Qunari.

At last, Velyn seemed to come to the conclusion that argument was fruitless – that or he was more exhausted than he wanted to let on – and allowed Duncan to lead him back to the camp, glancing back at the Qunari only once.

Their progress was slow, and Duncan believed it would be silent as well, but Velyn surprised him by asking, “Not going to recruit him?”  

Duncan glanced down at Velyn and considered his reply.

“I imagine there would be some resistance from the authorities responsible for imprisoning him.”

Velyn hissed.  “Since when has resistance stopped you?”  He stumbled and Duncan reached out to steady him before he could fall.  Velyn tensed and pulled away.  Duncan’s eyes narrowed.

“Since the moment I learned that we have less time than I previously believed,” he said bluntly, voice clipped. “If I thought it necessary, I would not hesitate to add another recruit to our ranks.”

“But you’ve already pulled that shit on enough random people, is that it?”  Velyn turned and pinned Duncan with a withering and venomous glare.  For a moment, Duncan said nothing, able only to stand fast in the face of Velyn’s anger and grief and – yes, Duncan believed the word apt – hate.  

He had taken a gamble with Velyn, and he realized now that it perhaps might not end up worthwhile.  The sickness was progressing far too quickly for Duncan’s liking, though Velyn’s own strength and will were certainly up to the task of fighting it –  _delaying the inevitable_.  But it was clear that Velyn, for all his strength, his skill, his tenacity, did not see any possible benefit to being a part of the Wardens.  Not even to save his life, and certainly not to save the lives of others.

There had always been recruits who attempted to flee before the Joining – rare, but not unheard of – and Duncan was beginning to wonder if Velyn wouldn’t end up one of them.

Velyn managed to pull ahead as Duncan mused, and when he reached the camp, he allowed himself to fall gracelessly to the ground.  He was breathing heavily, unconsciously massaging his stomach in a way that suggested he might soon be sick.

Duncan released a slow breath and turned his attention to the other recruits.  Richu sat with Aja, propping her up as she dozed, and Rondall chatted amicably with Gundhram as the latter pounded the dents from his armor.  

But they were the only ones actually interacting with one another. Ila stood removed from them, a wary and guarded gaze set on the village.  Tristan was removed as well, though he did not stand with Ila, and was equally as guarded.  And Velyn was turned away from all of them, curled in on himself, his breaths raspy and short.  None of them spoke.

And the fate of Ferelden and perhaps all of Thedas was laid at their feet.

With a nod to Richu, another for Rondall, Duncan turned on his heel and made his way back to Lothering.  

He never did get that drink.

When he returned to the camp, the sun had nearly set.  Richu and Rondall had managed to get some supplies and their rations were replenished for the final leg of the journey.

All the recruits but Gundhram were asleep, and even he seemed to be having trouble fighting away the urge.

Duncan placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a knowing look.

“Get some rest, Gundhram,” he said softly. “I have watch. We will be safe.”  The reassurance of soldiers.  Gundhram nodded once, curt, and dropped off to sleep almost instantly. Duncan nodded, satisfied, and pulled back, slowly turning his gaze to each recruit.  There were constants in how they slept, and Duncan found himself searching for them curiously.

Aja slept fully and deeply, still somewhat unused to the rigors of life on the move.  Ila slept curled on her side facing outward, daggers by her head, hand clutched about the chain she kept around her neck.  Tristan slept with his eyes slanted open, upright against a stump, sleeping light and ready for anything.  Gundhram was practical and controlled, even while sleeping, the only thing betraying him being a light rumbling snore deep in his chest.

Whatever Velyn’s constants were, they were disrupted by the sickness.  He shivered in his sleep, tossing and turning uncomfortably, small whimpers escaping him every few seconds.

For all that the young elf’s frustrating tendencies and anguished rage pulled at the thread of Duncan’s patience, Duncan’s heart ached for him.  

The sun dipped below the tree line and Duncan pulled himself from his thoughts.

“Make sure to get some rest,” he reminded his Wardens.  He doubted they’d have anything to fear from bandits or thieves, from outside the village, but still… “I will keep watch.”  

“Make sure to follow a bit of your own advice, yeah?” Richu grumbled, wiping a hand across his eyes. “Wouldn’t do well to have  _you_ collapsing on us.  Big boss going down?  How would that look.”  He grinned ruefully at Duncan, a teasing edge to his voice, but Duncan could hear the seriousness behind the words, and was grateful for it.

“I’ll be fine, Richu,” Duncan assured.  Richu rolled his eyes and grunted in what sounded like disbelief, but seemed to concede as he lay back on his bedroll.  Duncan turned his eyes back to Lothering.  

This was it.  The last stretch.  Duncan let his head drop and, on a strange impulse, offered up a prayer to the Maker. Maybe He would listen this time.

The night passed by almost too quickly, and the next day when they awoke, all looked nearly as exhausted as they had the day before.

With no time wasted, they started on their trek.  It was every bit as taxing as Duncan had feared.

In their exhaustion, the recruits grew impatient and snappish with one another; Tristan allowed some of his disdain for Gundhram to come forward, and Gundhram seemed to have a more difficult time staying silent. Velyn was as waspish as he had been since Duncan had recruited him, and even Aja had lashed out one evening when Velyn pushed too far.

It was, however, Ila, who’d surprised him the most.  Duncan was under no illusions that she had any real love of humans, but it seemed that she had been far better at hiding the true depth of her disdain for them than he had originally thought.

On the third day, when she stumbled to her knees and was unable to push herself up on her own, Rondall had moved to help her, only to be impatiently pushed away as she glared at him with cold and steely eyes.  For several tense moments, the group had stopped and surveyed her, uncertain as to which of them was the correct person to offer help. In the end, Gundhram had stoically pulled her to her feet and offered his shoulder for her to lean on.  

She’d avoided everyone’s eyes then, and Duncan had felt the weight in his stomach sink even further.

There would be much to discuss once they reached Ostagar.

Velyn’s sickness only grew worse over the course of their journey, and several times they had to stop when he couldn’t keep on his feet or when he had to retch.  But even Duncan’s concern over all that wasn’t enough to match the sheer depth of his fear when Velyn, on the fourth and final day, grew too exhausted to protest his aid.

Duncan had taken to walking closer to Velyn the longer they traveled, and though it was plain to see that Velyn strongly disapproved, there was certainly nothing he could do to dissuade Duncan.  Though he had protested it continually, however weak and tired he sounded.

But then he’d begun to list, on the last day, and he kept listing, and when Duncan had steadied him, he didn’t pull away, just stayed there, in Duncan’s hold, quivering and panting, eyes closed.

Duncan had wanted to move the group faster after that, but he knew that pushing beyond what their bodies could handle would only result in all of them collapsing.

Those last few hours were long and torturous, and though he managed to maintain his composure, Duncan couldn’t help but fear the worst. The whispers had grown louder and louder as they went, and even so far from Ostagar, Duncan knew that the horde had grown exponentially in the time he had been gone.

But then they reached the forest, and after that… They were  _there._

Rarely had Duncan ever felt such overwhelming relief - bittersweet though it was - as he did when he saw the large looming gates of Ostagar.  Velyn was leaning heavily against his side, Gundhram had carried Ila’s stumbling weight for the past day and a half, Tristan had Rondall’s arm gripped like a lifeline, and Aja had been sagging against Richu for nearly half the journey.  They were all exhausted, and it showed.

But they were alive.

“We are nearly at Ostagar,” he called back to them, adjusting Velyn’s weight as he moved them slowly onward.  There was a huff of curiosity from Velyn.

“Tha’s’a place?” he muttered.  Duncan nodded and replied gently.

“Yes, that is Ostagar.”  Velyn attempted to nod and his head lolled forward against his chest.

“Good,” he whispered, his voice growing weaker.  Duncan felt a wash of cold urgency and tried carefully to quicken his steps, hoping Velyn would follow, but to no avail.  Velyn wasn’t even struggling to keep up.  

With great effort, he pulled his head up to fall by Duncan’s shoulder, and coughed, “Catch.”

And then collapsed.

“ _Velyn!_ ”

Duncan tightened his grip and brought his free arm around Velyn’s back to stop the fall.  

“Duncan, what happened?”  The others had stopped, tense and silent.  For the moment, Duncan ignored them, focusing his attention on Velyn; his skin was sweaty and his complexion sallow, and his body was running hot, too much so.

At least the Taint hadn’t withered him enough to prevent his body fighting it.

A poor consolation.  He was still dying.

“Recruits, stay with the Wardens!” Duncan barked, lifting Velyn’s limp form into his arms. “Wardens, lead them to the camp!”  

Without another word, Duncan turned and hastened toward Ostagar.


	3. Part I - Ch.3

 

King Cailan stood just beyond the gates with his usual entourage of bodyguards –  _unnecessary_  bodyguards the king himself would most likely call them – but Duncan couldn’t afford the time that would be lost to properly greeting him.  

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he called firmly, only slowing his pace enough to bow his head. “But I must find a healer immediately.  I will speak with you once my recruit has been tended to.”

With that, he hurried forward, leaving a perplexed Cailan to his Wardens.

Velyn was limp in his arms and Duncan awkwardly jammed two fingers against his neck – an awkward twist – in search of a pulse.  

It was barely there. Duncan breathed a curse.

Thankfully, the soldiers he passed were able to see the urgency in his movements, his expression –  _the unconscious elf in his arms_ – and moved themselves from his path.  There were no obstacles between him and the healers’ tents.  

“I need a healer,” he called loudly as he approached.  One of the healers immediately turned toward him and hurried over.  Her brow furrowed when she saw Velyn.

“Set him here,” she commanded tersely, gesturing to an available cot.  Duncan obeyed and she knelt down.  “What happened?  I see no wounds…”  

“He has been exposed to the darkspawn Taint,” Duncan explained. “Though not through contact with their blood; he was exposed to an object tainted by Blighted magic.  I know that you can do nothing for him as he is. I will find one of the mages and bring them here to aid me; I ask that you watch over him until I return.  If you would, ensure that he does not bring harm to himself or any other in his delirious state.”

Velyn moaned and twitched. The healer froze, but Velyn made no other move.  After a moment, she relaxed and sighed.

“…Aye.  But return quickly; I’ve others here I  _can_ help.”

Duncan nodded his thanks, turning one last look upon his recruit.

At least now he could see the stilted rise and fall of Velyn’s chest.  Still unconscious.   _But not dead yet._

Without another word, he turned sharply and hurried toward the mages’ camp.

“Excuse me,” Duncan greeted, approaching one of the templars guarding the enclosed camp. “I have need of one of your healers.  Where is Wynne?”

The templar didn’t hesitate. “Why is it you’ve need of a mage? Haven’t they already lent their aid to you Wardens in your… preparations?”

“Yes, and this is, I’m afraid, something entirely different,” Duncan responded.  He didn’t have time for this.  “One of my recruits is suffering from an illness caused by contact with the darkspawn Taint and I am in need of healing magic.  That’s all I can offer you in return for Wynne’s location; it should be more than sufficient.”  His voice grew hard, very nearly unyielding, and the templar seemed to sense the shift.  He straightened stiffly in his armor.

“The king has pledged the service of the mages to the Grey Wardens,” he said, somewhat uncomfortably. “Wynne is within the camp, with the other senior enchanters.  Don’t delay, Grey Warden.  The mages have their own preparations to make.”

Duncan nodded tersely and sped into the camp, searching.  The heaviness in his chest lifted some when he caught sight of Wynne.

“Wynne,” he called as he approached. “Forgive my interruption, but I have need of your skills.”

The kindly mage turned a genial smile on him, though it fell from her face when she saw the severity of his expression.

“What has happened?” she asked.  She quickly extracted herself from a conversation with her fellows and hurried over. Duncan inclined his head in thanks and gestured toward the healers’ tents.

“If you would come with me, I’ll explain on the way.”  Wynne didn’t hesitate.  Duncan set a brisk pace and she matched it gamely.

“One of my recruits has contracted an illness from contact with a Tainted magical artifact,” he explained as they went. “It’s been progressing slowly in him, and though his body has thus far resisted the worst of its effects, I fear that he has very nearly run out of time.”

“And you need magic to stave off the effects,” Wynne finished for him, a grave note to her voice. Duncan nodded.

“Yes.  The only way to heal him is to undergo the ritual which your fellow mages have helped to prepare, but I believe that a mage skilled enough in healing magic might be able to help him survive until that time.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you happen to have one of those,” Wynne replied wryly, surprising a small huff of amusement from Duncan.  He turned briefly and caught sight of patient steady eyes;  _“Calm yourself,”_  they seemed to say,  _“Perhaps we will not succeed, but we will try.”_ Duncan kept forward.

“A good thing, indeed.”

When they arrived, Duncan pointed to Velyn, still unconscious though not still.  He thrashed on the cot as the fever took greater hold of his body, rasping half-cries and grunts falling from his lips. His eyes were clenched painfully shut, and Duncan could see the veins in his arms beginning to pulse with the black blood of the Tainted.  He sucked in a breath.

The healer he had spoken to earlier was shouting commands to several of her fellows, and she along with two others were trying to hold him still by restraining his limbs.  One leg remained free and kicked dangerously.  The healer looked up as Duncan approached.

“Maker, but you have good timing!” she declared in a tight voice. “Grab his leg before he bludgeons anyone!”  Duncan hurried over and swiftly took hold of Velyn’s leg, pressing it down to the cot. The healer tossed her head in Wynne’s direction.  “This the mage?”

Wynne was already moving toward them.

“Continue to hold him, please,” she commanded, gentle steel in her voice.  She knelt by Velyn’s head, gently running her fingers over his brow. He winced, seemingly at the touch, and twitched away, fighting the healers’ hold.

“It’s already spread so far,” she murmured to herself before raising her voice to address Duncan, “Duncan, how long has it been since he’s contracted the disease?”

“Nine days,” Duncan replied promptly.  Wynne’s brow furrowed.

“So long, and yet he hasn’t succumbed,” she mused. “He is resilient.”  She fell silent then and leaned in closer.  Velyn continued to thrash.

Duncan watched and waited as Wynne drew in a deep breath.  Her hands hovered close to Velyn’s creased face, as Aja’s had over a week ago, and began to glow as she started her spell.  

Immediately, Duncan could see the experience in Wynne which Aja had been lacking.  He felt the strength of it from where he knelt.  Low and smooth, like a mother silencing a crying child with nonsense sounds, shushing and comforting, steady in the face of the onslaught.  And potent; not once did the spell weaken.

Slowly, gradually, Velyn’s struggles began to lessen.  His creased brow eased, his graveled moans tapered to shaking whimpers, and his limbs calmed.

“Shhh, be still, child,” Wynne whispered, her face taut with concentration.  Louder, she said, “His body is so weak… it’s a miracle he managed to survive this long.”

“Thank the Maker,” one of the other healers breathed, letting her head fall forward.  Velyn’s arm twitched in her grip, and she jumped, face going red as she reapplied her weight.

“Will he survive the night?” Duncan asked.  His voice was harder than he thought it would be, and somehow the sound of it seemed to disrupt the peace of Wynne’s spell.  He fought back the near alien urge to lower his voice.

Wynne’s eyes didn’t leave Velyn’s face.  

“It’s impossible to say.” Her hands shifted smoothly, moving from his face to his shoulders to his chest, still hovering. “If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say that my magic only halts the pain but not the effects.”  

Velyn moaned pitifully, his head falling to the side, cheek pushing against the cot.  Wynne moved one hand to guide his face away from the harsh press.  Velyn leaned into her touch, unknowing, and she whispered quietly to him until he stilled.

A solemn expression on her face, Wynne looked to Duncan.

“He may well not survive the night.”

Duncan nodded once.  

“And supposing you maintain your vigil over him?”

Wynne shook her head.

“I can promise no more than that he will not be in pain.”  An ominous silence followed her words, and Duncan noted that the healers were very careful not to look directly at him.  He opened his mouth to speak, but Wynne continued, “I will stay with him regardless.  We are here at the king’s request, it is true; but the king requested we aid the Grey Wardens to the best of our abilities as well.  I will stay with the boy for now, and you can finish the preparations for your ritual.”  Her brow furrowed.  “I urge haste; he doesn’t have very long.”

Duncan nodded.  “I will take my leave, then.”  He pushed to his feet and caught Wynne’s eyes.  “I thank you, Wynne.”  

Wynne smiled, tinged with sadness, “Don’t thank me just yet.”  She nodded once, and Duncan took his cue to leave.  

He walked out of the healers’ tent to the beat of his blood thundering in his veins and the whispering voices singing in his mind.  Already they were drowning out Velyn’s weak and rattling breaths.

He found the Wardens in their camp, and came up short as he entered and surveyed them all.  His eyes lingered on the recruits.  They were exhausted; Tristan and Ila were rasping short and uneven breaths as they each rested against their packs, eyes heavy and glassy.  Aja was asleep on a bedroll.  Duncan’s brow furrowed.

“I told her to rest,” Richu’s quiet voice drifted calmly over to him and he turned.  Richu stood and walked to Duncan’s side.  His feet dragged heavily and his shoulders fought not to hunch.  Behind him, Rondall wasn’t even trying to hide his weariness, leaning against Gundhram, who stood rigid and still, the only signs betraying his exhaustion being the furrow in his brow and the beaded sweat that ran down his face.  

Richu held Duncan’s gaze as he came to a stop.

“She needs it,” he offered in a lowered voice. “They all do. 

Duncan didn’t respond at first, but something sank in his stomach.  His brow furrowed and he exhaled, short and controlled.

“You’re right,” he said simply.  He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead.  “But we can’t afford them that time.”  He turned to face the direction from which he’d come, and Richu stiffened.

“Velyn?” he rumbled.  Duncan nodded.

“He has the attention of the healers, thankfully, including one of the Circle of Magi.  However, it is questionable whether or not he will survive the night.”

Richu sucked in a hissing breath and swore.  Duncan was inclined to agree.

“So what the hell are we going to do about that?” Richu growled.  He looked back to the recruits.  “You can’t bloody well send them out like  _this._   The darkspawn’ll gut them like pigs.”

“You’ve seen them fight,” Duncan countered. “They are all skilled enough to survive.”

“Andraste’s arse, yeah, when they’re able to fuckin’  _stand!_ ” Richu’s voice shook and Duncan turned to look at him.  His dark skin was streaked with sweat and grime, and beneath it all his eyes shone with baffled irritation.  At his sides, his clenched hands shook.  Duncan opened his mouth to speak, but Richu cut him off.

“What in the name of all that’s holy are you thinking?” he hissed, stepping in close.  His eyes flicked over Duncan’s face, as though some clue were to be found there.  “You’ve got four damn recruits dying of exhaustion, and you’re gonna throw ‘em to the darkspawn so that the one that’s sick  _might_ live?”

The words cut, worming their way into his stomach and settling there.  Duncan found he had nothing to say in response.  The silence stretched and Richu lifted a hand to grip at Duncan’s shoulder.

“What happened to ‘death’s always a possibility’?”  

Duncan almost laughed – and surely it would have been a rueful and broken sound – at the irony of Richu’s words.  His  _own_ words.  His eyes fell heavily closed and he lowered his head to acknowledge Richu’s point.

 _Clearly_ , he thought archly,  _old age has worn me down_.  Or was it the nightmares?

When he raised his head again, his expression was hard, determined.  

“They have one night, and the morning to rest and recover,” he declared firmly. “They head into the Wilds tomorrow with Alistair, when the sun is high.”  He caught Richu’s eyes and drew in a breath.  “Should Velyn perish during the night, it will be regrettable, but we will honor him as any other recruit lost to the Joining.”

Richu nodded solemnly, but didn’t take his hand from Duncan’s shoulder.

“He really got to you,” he muttered.  Duncan didn’t answer, staring instead at the recruits.  

It was impossible to truly forget what recruiting someone meant.  He had seen it on Velyn’s face when he’d used the Right; helpless grief and rage amidst fear and confusion.  In that, Velyn had reminded him strongly of—

But Richu was right. There were others in his charge, others with just as much potential, and a greater chance of survival.

Duncan roughly shoved the thought aside, forcing away the memory of Velyn, thinking of the others. They were not nearly as ill as he, which made their welfare the priority.  Harsh, perhaps, but necessary.

He needed to go, needed to seek out the king, or the general, and find out what he had missed, what the scouts had discovered since he had been gone.  His eyes stayed on his recruits and he didn’t move.

Other memories suddenly came forward, and he let them, for one crucial tired moment.

He saw in his mind the pain on Valendrian’s face as he stared the good elder down, as he refused to be turned away even on the day of a wedding, as he refused to be duped by Valendrian’s desperate efforts to keep his community intact.  He remembered the grim determination on Ila’s face, agreeing to Duncan’s proposal as though it were only slightly better than the prospect of facing the headsman’s axe.  

He remembered Aja’s fear as she shook and sobbed and tried to convince the First Enchanter that she was no threat, that she would obey and be silent if only the Circle wouldn’t send her away.  He remembered the moment she realized that there truly was no choice, that she could only choose between two kinds of death.  

There was Gundhram, in tattered rags without even wraps for his feet, just as noble and dignified as he had been in his resplendent royal armor, even as he shook under the strain and weight of the burden of his exile, needing the Wardens only because if he didn’t join them he would die alone and unremembered.

And Tristan… Duncan had tried to prevent himself from indulging in it, the reverence Tristan held for the Wardens, the look of pride in his eyes as Duncan had chosen him, the desire – the  _need_  – to  _prove_ himself to Duncan, to everyone.  Duncan remembered that willingness and was thankful for it, shamefully found himself recalling it in his mind when the Wardens were greeted so coldly by the other recruits.  Tristan, at least, might be content here.

_If he survives._

Duncan sobered and straightened, pulling himself from his thoughts.

There was a Blight, and this was no time for such sentimentality.  This was bigger than he, than they.

Richu had left his side while he had been lost in thought, but Duncan caught his eyes and sent him a terse nod.  Richu returned it, and Duncan left to find the king.

It was Teyrn Loghain he found first.

“So the king is not at the Wardens’ camp?” the general drawled when Duncan inquired after his whereabouts, casting a narrow-eyed glare in the direction of King Cailan’s tent. Duncan shook his head.

“No, general, he was not. I saw him briefly upon my return, but I had a wounded man with me, and could not greet His Majesty properly.  I’m afraid I lost track of him soon after.”

Loghain scoffed and moved swiftly around Duncan.  “And you will need to tell him of what you have found.”

“I do indeed, but you will do just as well for what I have in mind, if I may.”  Loghain paused and turned just enough to catch Duncan with a guarded expression, brow furrowed.  Duncan inclined his head sharply.  “What has happened in the months I have been away?  I must know if there has been a change regarding the darkspawn horde.”  

Something in Loghain’s face shifted and darkened.  Without another word, he turned and gestured for Duncan to follow, heading toward his own tent.  Once inside, he made his way toward a large table at the center.  On it was a map of the Wilds, incomplete and likely inaccurate, but the best they had.  

“The darkspawn have not attacked in weeks,” he explained, matter-of-fact.  Duncan joined him before the map.  “They have pulled back, Maker knows where, and we haven’t seen a single stinking one.”  He pointed to an area of the map, not far from the main camp.  “Here is where we last skirmished.”  

Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “Not even scouts have seen them?”

Loghain’s jaw clenched. “Our scouting parties have been disappearing of late.  We send them out, parties of anywhere from two to six men, and they all disappear.  Or they’re killed.”  He paused here, seeming to chew over his next words.  Duncan waited.  

“The last scouting party,” Loghain went on, voice low and grave. “The Teyrn of Highever’s son was at its head.  Cailan sent him out.”  Something in Loghain’s voice told Duncan that perhaps Loghain himself had disagreed with that decision.  “The lad was never a scout; he’s a warrior and a leader, as his father is.

“Of course, Cailan rarely appreciates the complexity of such things.”  

“What happened to the Teyrn’s son?” Duncan asked firmly, trying to pull the conversation back on track. Loghain turned a hard glower on him.

“Exactly what happened to the rest of his scouts,” he snapped. “He disappeared.  Not even a body left behind.  And the teyrn himself is nowhere to be found, which has damaged the morale of a large portion of the men.”

Duncan pulled in a slow breath as he took in the general’s information.  

“I’ve heard some disturbing rumors coming from Highever,” he admitted. “If even one of them is true, then this could bode ill for Ferelden in the event the horde travels further north.”

Division or weakness among the Bannorn and Teyrnirs would be disastrous.  

“Regardless,” Loghain said sharply, “of why Teyrn Cousland is not with us, the majority of his troops arrived with his son and have decently bolstered the army’s strength.” He turned a hard look on Duncan, “Unfortunate though it may be that the teyrn himself is not with us, I believe that the presence of his men is enough.”

Duncan carefully held his silence, and the general’s gaze, as he inclined his head in response.

“And have you learned anything of their whereabouts?”

Loghain didn’t immediately answer, turning instead back toward the map.  Something twisted in Duncan’s chest.  

“Nothing.”  Loghain’s eyes narrowed.  “Not even a forward camp, nor a trail from their scouts.  I hate to say it of the beasts, but they’re smart; they wait for us to seek them out in small groups for scouting or reconnaissance, and then they fall upon those groups, and disappear back into the Wilds leaving no traces to follow.  I have forbidden Cailan or any of the commanders from sending out anymore scouting units.  They yield nothing, and we will  _not_ give these monsters any more easy kills.

“Everything we have we will need for whatever assault the horde is planning.  Cailan does not look too carefully on  _why_ the darkspawn have stopped engaging our soldiers in the open.”  Here, Loghain’s eyes flashed and Duncan’s jaw tensed.

“They’re massing their forces,” Duncan finished.  Loghain nodded.  

“It is likely that they will soon launch an attack that will make what we’ve faced so far seem a child’s game by comparison.”

“Is the king’s army ready to face such an attack should it come soon?”

There was a pause, and then—

“Yes,” Loghain hissed, straightening as though facing down the entirety of the horde himself. “There have been setbacks, no doubt, but we have the forces we need to drive the horde back if we maintain focus on our goal.”

“And the presence of the mages gives us a potential edge,” Duncan pointed out, hoping the general’s optimism was not unfounded. “And I bring with me five promising young recruits, all of whom will add significantly to our efforts and strength.”

Loghain suddenly scoffed and his eyes hardened, landing on Duncan in a rough and unyielding stare.

“I hope it’s not the arrogance of the Wardens speaking right now,” he growled. “Only a fool or a braggart would believe that five soldiers may turn the tide of battle.”

“It would be unwise to assume so, yes, but such an assumption was not made, and those I bring with me can only bolster further the king’s army,” Duncan responded sharply, refusing to rise to the bait. “Is there anything else of note you can tell me, general?”

“No, that is all of import,” Loghain replied, very nearly cutting Duncan off in his abruptness. “If you need nothing else, then you may take your leave.  I have other business to attend to.”

Duncan wasted no time doing exactly that.  He was nearly out when he heard, “And when you find Cailan, tell him I need to speak with him.”

He didn’t respond, and the tension followed after him as he left the tent.

Troubling though the teyrn’s report had been, Duncan couldn’t say he was particularly surprised.  Rarely was there good news to be had during a Blight.

In his mind, Duncan went over everything he had learned; the horde had pulled back to amass their forces, most likely to launch a great assault on the king’s camp; meanwhile, the king’s troops were unlucky at best, ill-omened at worst, with the disappearance of Teyrn Cousland’s son, and the absence of the teyrn himself hanging over all of them.

And from Redcliffe there was nothing.

Could they really withstand the brunt of a full-scale attack by the horde?

The whispers laughed in his mind and Duncan pushed them back.

When he returned to the Wardens’ camp, the king was there.

“Your Majesty,” Duncan greeted, perhaps more surprised than he should have been.  The king had seen fit to wait at the entrance just to greet Duncan and the recruits, after all.  

King Cailan smiled genially and approached, arms out in welcome.

“Ho, there, Duncan,” he called. “Have you time to accept the king’s greeting now?”  His expression turned playful and his smile became a grin. Duncan bowed his head.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, I was not prepared for—”

The amusement fell from King Cailan’s expression, and he waved his hand as though brushing it all aside, “There is no need to apologize, my friend.  I saw what caused your haste.”  His brow furrowed.  “And how fares your man?  A recruit, I’m guessing?”

“Yes, Majesty, and he is in a very serious condition.  I’m afraid we can only hope that he will survive the night.”

King Cailan winced in sympathy, placing a hand on Duncan’s shoulder.  “If you saw fit to recruit him into the Wardens, I’ll bet he’s made of hardy stuff.  I believe he can survive this, and to help ensure it, I shall have my personal physician attend to him.”  He gave a look which Duncan supposed was meant to be reassuring.  There was little Duncan could do but accept it graciously.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”  _Though I don’t think much will come of it._

Seemingly satisfied, King Cailan turned back to survey the others, “And I have met your other recruits, Duncan. I must say, I’m very impressed.” The smile returned.  “Hardy indeed to have made such a journey, and some of them from the Frostbacks to Denerim before finally coming here!”  A spark of eagerness lit his eyes and he raised his chin in excited defiance.  “I look forward to standing at your sides in this battle.  I hope it shall mark a glorious beginning to the revival of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden!”  

Duncan nodded, “Of course, Majesty.”   _We shall have to survive it first._   “If I may, Your Majesty, I have spoken with Teyrn Loghain, and he expressed a wish to speak with you.”  The king let out a bark of laughter, and Duncan chose not to think of the vicious humor in having been reduced to carrying messages to and fro between the king and his general.

“Of course he did,” King Cailan snorted. “It’s always something.”  He shook his head, brow pinched, and turned to leave.  “Well, if that’s the case, I’d better go see him, shouldn’t I?”  

Duncan stepped forward before he could leave, “Your Majesty, one more thing before you go, if I may?” King Cailan gestured in the affirmative. “Teyrn Cousland’s son.  Is nothing known of the circumstances that led to his disappearance?”  

The king winced and his face adopted a grave expression.  

“We had already been losing our scouts to the monsters by then,” he explained, and Duncan wondered what was causing the uneven note in his voice. “Fergus expressed a desire to lead one of the next scouting parties.  He wished to give the soldiers something good for a change, he said, something that might help in our locating the main horde.

“He was in high spirits when he arrived, and eager to provide his aid.  His request was earnest and noble, and I felt it best to give him his wish.”  King Cailan raised a troubled gaze to rest on Duncan.  “He never returned.  After three days, I thought to send more scouts looking for him, or a body, or even the rest of his scouting party, but by then—”  Duncan watched as the king’s enthusiasm and certainty began to flag and his gaze fell to the ground between them.

“I wonder if Loghain had the right of it in that; perhaps I shouldn’t have sent Fergus out in that party.” He lifted his eyes, defiance warring with uncertainty.  “But to deny him the opportunity to aid his people?  I—”  For a moment, King Cailan’s expression went distant and he seemed to fall into his thoughts, thoughts Duncan couldn’t guess.  

The moment passed and the king shook himself, pulling a friendly expression over his features once more, though there was still tension in the lines of his neck.  

“But it is done now,” he said firmly. “Whatever our mistakes these past months, our focus must be on the future.  I will go and speak with Loghain.”  He rolled his eyes and summoned a grin.  When he turned to Duncan, his expression softened.  “Rest, Duncan.  You and your recruits have been through much, and you’ve certainly earned it.”  He chuckled.  “And we shall all need our strength for the great battle to come. Farewell!”

“Farewell, Your Majesty.”

The king left, and Duncan let his eyes fall closed.  

“Thought he would never bloody leave…”  Richu’s voice was low and gravelly from exhaustion, and Duncan had only the energy and inclination to sigh heavily in reproach.  He turned and walked to Richu, who rested against his pack, body leaden, movements sluggish.  Richu looked up and shot Duncan a tired smirk.  Duncan allowed himself a huffed chuckle in response.

“Has Alistair or Grigor returned since we arrived?” he asked.  Richu shook his head.

“Haven’t seen ‘em,” he answered. “Something about talking to some mages?  Not sure what the bloody hell for, but if it’s not whatever that means, my guess is they’re with the other recruits, what were their names again? ‘You’ and ‘Boy’?”  He snickered.

“They will need to be made ready for the venture into the Korcari Wilds,” Duncan declared, sharp. He had forgotten that, somehow… “Alistair as well.”  He pushed himself up straight and prepared to seek them out.  

Richu watched him, held his silence for a beat, and then, “We could send Alistair and Grigor out now, along with those other two, before we lose the last of the light.  To get the blood.  For Velyn.  And these ones.”  His voice was low and tired, but a thread of something else in it froze Duncan where he stood.

Richu continued, “Would give these recruits a chance to rest.  Might get Velyn a better shot to live, to get the blood faster.  Grigor’n them are fresher; they’d handle it well enough.”

His proposal ended, Richu fell to silence once more.  Duncan pressed his fingers to his forehead, rubbed the skin above the eye.  Thought of blood-stained cots and the oozing blackness of Tainted blood; thought of callused feet, bleeding and blistered from walking for weeks; thought of dust and stone clogging the throat.

Thought of a ritual and a bond, and what it meant to be earned.

“No.”  He could hear Richu’s sigh of defeat, of disappointment, and he lowered his head.  “I am sorry, Richu.”  He didn’t let the silence stretch before he shored himself up again.  “Make sure to get some rest.”  He shot his companion a wry look.  “King’s orders.”  Then he left.

It took him until sundown to finish his tasks.  Alistair, apparently, was carrying out menial tasks for the Revered Mother, nowhere Duncan could find him.  Grigor was with the other recruits, and eagerly volunteered to help Daveth and Ser Jory prepare for the excursion into the Wilds, glad to have something to do.  As for Daveth and Ser Jory themselves, they looked far more rested than they had when Duncan had last seen them.  When asked, they expressed a readiness for what came. It gave him some hope to see, even if it came with a level of wariness.

The last thing he did was politely turn the king’s personal physician away.  The man seemed as relieved to be dismissed as Duncan was to dismiss him.

When he returned to the healers’ tents he found Wynne alone by Velyn’s side.  Her magic glowed, softer than before, and Duncan approached with care.

“Wynne.”

She looked up and gave him a tired smile.  “There has been no change since you left, I’m afraid.”  One of her hands began to shake and she dropped it gently to Velyn’s forehead. “He burns with fever still, and the illness only seems to be spreading further.”  She gestured and Duncan’s eyes moved over black veins throbbing under his skin, pronounced and sharp.  “He has woken once, but he was not lucid.”

Duncan didn’t speak for a moment, observing as Velyn gasped and panted in pain.  Eventually, he stood, “You should rest; it would be unwise to expend all your energy so quickly.  I will watch him for the night.”  He inclined his head.  “I thank you for your aid, Wynne.”  She stood to her feet, steadier than Duncan thought she would be, and smiled.

“I am glad to help,” she replied. “If you like, I can return in the morning, when my energy has recovered?”

Duncan’s lips twitched, and his heart sank.  

“We shall see.”

The words rang, harsh and loud against the oppressive silence that followed.  Wynne’s brow was furrowed and her gaze was solemn.  

“I suppose we shall.” She pulled in a deep breath and stepped closer to him.  Catching his eyes, she reached out and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“I have faith in him,” she murmured, and squeezed once, and then was gone.

Duncan exhaled heavily and went to Velyn, kneeling down beside the cot.  His knees protested.  He ignored them.  Lowered his head.  Breathed.

The long wait.

“Y…you.”  

Duncan’s head snapped up at the familiar croak.  There was Velyn, barely awake and glaring weakly.  Pain and fear and confusion swirled in his eyes, masked with a feeble anger, likely the only thing Velyn could hold to, the only thing giving him some sense of control or strength.

“Velyn,” Duncan spoke softly. Velyn whimpered and pressed his lips together, a quivering and discolored line.  When he spoke again, Duncan could barely hear him.

“Could’n’… jus’ le’me die—with m’clan…”  

Duncan placed a hand over Velyn’s feverish brow, jaw tightening at the near-burn of it.

“I do not think your clan would have wished you dead, if there were an alternative that would prevent it,” he offered gently.  Against his hand, Velyn made a small keening noise and squirmed under the touch. Whether to press into it or to escape from it, Duncan couldn’t say.  

“I d-didn’ wa—wan’ t’leave…”

Duncan didn’t let himself look away.

“I know.” 

“I didn’… didn’ wan’ to… T’mlen…”

“…I am sorry.”

Velyn’s eyes suddenly shot open and his body spasmed.  Duncan reacted immediately, turning him gently onto his side as he dry-heaved, weak and pitiful, a small collection of saliva at the corners of his mouth the only thing he managed to bring up.

The useless retching continued for nearly a minute.  When it finally subsided, Duncan carefully wiped the moisture from Velyn’s eyes and mouth. Silence followed, broken only by the sounds of pain and misery coming from the other injured soldiers nearby. Beneath it all, Velyn huffed shallow panting breaths against Duncan’s arm.  

“I don’ want.  To  _die…!_ ” Velyn clenched through gritted teeth.  Duncan could feel in the quivering of his muscles – could hear in the wracking sob of his voice – the effort it took him to force the words from his throat.  He lowered his head.

_You will not._

_I will do everything in my power to prevent it._

_This will not be in vain._

But he couldn’t know that, and his duty may demand he not prevent it, and it may very well turn out to be.

Velyn succumbed to an uneasy and restless sleep nearly an hour later.  Duncan remained by his side long after that, heedless of the silent tears tracking down his face.


End file.
